


Risks

by kate_the_reader



Series: The season [21]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: 31 Days of Ineffables Advent Calendar Challenge 2019 (Good Omens), Ficlet, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:07:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21889408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kate_the_reader/pseuds/kate_the_reader
Summary: Aziraphale gives Crowley a gift. It’s a bit of a risk.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: The season [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564690
Comments: 14
Kudos: 39





	Risks

**Author's Note:**

> This story fits with an earlier story of mine, [These gifts we give](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21493861/chapters/51225820), in which Aziraphale and Crowley give each other gifts and talk about gender presentation.  
> The story is part of the [His sun](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1480562) series

Aziraphale likes Christmas in the world — the lights, the decorations, the music, the way people at least try to be happy. 

But he has never had anyone to share it with, before. Now he has Crowley, navigating his way tentatively, awkwardly, through a season so loaded with habits and expectations alien to him.

He has never had anyone to give a Christmas gift to. He and Crowley give each other gifts simply because they want to, without needing the excuse of a particular day. Still, he wants to give Crowley a gift at this season. 

He has thought about this gift for a long while. He thinks he can guess how Crowley will react, but there is a chance he has misunderstood. There is a risk. There is always a risk when you give a gift meant to tell the recipient something about your feelings — your feelings for them, and your feelings  _ about _ them. Risk is worth it, though, taking a step you never thought you could take.

He goes back to the shop where he bought the other things. The young shop assistant is very nice about his request, and helpful, even though he is vague about size. He takes another risk. “He’s a little taller than me. And very slender.”

She smiles at him and finds something that looks perfect.

“Merry Christmas!” she says, handing him the bag.

“And to you, my dear.”

He places the box, tied with silver ribbon, on their bed.

Crowley stands still in the doorway when he sees it there. “Another gift?”

“Yes.”

“A Christmas gift?” There’s a hint of defensiveness in his tone.

“A gift I have wanted to give you, that I would have given you at any season,” Aziraphale says. And then he risks: “But I have never had any one to give a seasonal gift to, so I wanted to do that, too.”

“I haven’t … I haven’t got you a gift.” Crowley’s voice is very quiet, and he’s not looking at Aziraphale.

This was a mistake.

Aziraphale places a hand on his shoulder, turns Crowley to face him. 

“I’m sorry, my love. I’m sorry I made you feel awkward. I know this is all very strange.”

“It is.” Crowley huffs a sort-of laugh, “Bloody weird, some of it. But a gift from you is always something I want.” Aziraphale hopes he’s right about this one.

Crowley approaches the bed and pulls the box closer and tugs on the tail of the bow, undoes the ribbon and lifts the lid. 

The black satin gleams. It’s not until he takes it out that he can see what it is, as it unfolds fluidly. He holds it up, silent. Then he holds it against himself. 

“Angel.”

The slip will fall to his mid-thigh, its hem flaring slightly out. Bias-cut, the shop assistant had said.

“Angel,” Crowley breathes again. He holds it in one hand while unbuckling his belt with the other, trying to toe his boots off.

“Let me,” says Aziraphale, kneeling to take them off for him, and his socks, while Crowley pushes his jeans down, still awkwardly using only one hand, the fingers of his other hand rubbing the smooth fabric. Aziraphale unbuttons his shirt and Crowley shrugs out of it, moving the slip from hand to hand.

“May I?” Aziraphale puts his hand on the garment. Crowley nods and gives it to him, raises his arms above his head so Aziraphale can slip it over his head. It slithers down his body, the wide straps settling on his shoulders, framing his collar bones.

Aziraphale slips one hand up the back of Crowley’s neck, pushing into his tumbling hair, and places the other in the middle of Crowley’s chest. The fabric is slightly cool to the touch. He almost closes his eyes against Crowley’s loveliness. “Oh, my love,” he says, and kisses him. “Thank you,” he says, against Crowley’s mouth.

“Thank me?” says Crowley, sounding incredulous, and kisses Aziraphale, deep and tender, his hands in his hair, and Aziraphale feels the heat of him through the smooth satin, through his own clothes.

And then Crowley takes Aziraphale’s hand and places it on his thigh, just below the hem of the slip, and moves it up, under the garment.

“Thank you, angel,” he whispers, “I feel very beautiful.”

Prompt: gift


End file.
